Monday, 27 March 2017

I've spent the last week feeling rather sorry for myself - though I figure I've got some reason for that - though I'm also very thankful for your good wishes! But I know that it could be much worse (though almost every time I think that, it actually is!), and I'm accepting that I might need to learn to live with an underlying level of pain.

It's that Pain Olympics thing, but when Pain Olympics work in our favour, not against us. I am able to see how good I have it, and how much worse it could be (and has been), rather than comparing myself only against those who are in robust health and never have any issues.

I am also not under the illusion that life is fair - infertility and pregnancy loss taught me that - and yes, sometimes further injustice can feel like a slap in the face.

But infertility and pregnancy loss has also taught me to accept that life is not fair, and I've emerged from that stronger. I don't take it personally any more, and I don't feel as if my self-worth is threatened, knowing that I am who I am, not what my body will do for me. I am thankful for that, for infertility's gift to me, making it easier to deal with life's blows, and making the joys in life even sweeter, the gratitude easier to find.

Monday, 13 March 2017

I found this list of suggestions in a draft email I wrote a
long time ago to someone who was in a lot of pain, and now I can’t honestly
remember if I sent this to them or if I decided they weren’t ready to hear it.
I suspect though, that we all need these reminders from time to time:

Every
time you recognise a negative thought, first, consciously recognise that you're
thinking it. Don’t let yourself reject any evidence or arguments that might
contradict these negative thoughts.

Next,
challenge the thought, by saying one or all of the following:

"well, I know that's
rubbish"
"Mali or <insert favourite blogger here> says that is rubbish"
(and don't let yourself think "but I know better" because you don't)
"the world doesn't work that way"
"biology doesn't work that
way."

Or challenge it in a more detailed
way:

"that can't be true because there are people who murder/torture/neglect their
children,
and they are no more worthy than
me."

Finally, simply say, "I can't think that way, I am a good person, I deserve better." Because I know you deserve better, even if right now, you don't.

Monday, 6 March 2017

This morning, I heard someone say that their only daughter had
moved to Australia, and that if they did not do so too (which, for financial
reasons, was a complicated decision), they would “be alone” for the rest of
their life.

This person felt that not having their only child near them
was a great tragedy, and that having to make this decision was a terrible injustice. Their perspective
was clear – that their life was not worth living unless they were close to
their child.

Needless to say, when I heard this I rolled my eyes a
little, thinking not only of all of us who won’t have our own children near us
when we are elderly, but of my great-uncle and great-aunt, whose children all
lived overseas or in another island and had to rely on a paid housekeeper and
my parents to help when they were aging, or of my in-laws, who – if something
happened to my husband and I – would also be without children in New Zealand
(despite having four of them, the nearest is more than an eight hour flight
away), and of all the other people who are without family in their day-to-day
lives.

I felt a little sympathy too, because it seemed that this
person (I suspect it was a woman) had never prepared themselves for their
retirement other than intending to rely on their child, and so felt alone and
obviously a little angry and afraid.

That’s the advantage that I think we, the No Kidding, have
over those who have focused their whole lives on their children. Instead of sitting
back and looking at our old age with doom and gloom, we can consciously choose
to make preparations, both practical and emotional. We can make friends
(hopefully of all ages), and ensure we are in an environment that is suitable
for our old age before we are too old to make the change (unlike my in-laws who
live in a house with treacherous stairs – as I learned to my chagrin last year
– and a garden that is too large for them to cope with, and on a hill they
cannot now walk up and down to get to the convenient shops nearby).

But most importantly, we can prepare mentally for our old
age, knowing that we won’t be relying on a child for our happiness, that we
won’t take it as a personal betrayal or failing if we don’t have family around
us in our later years, and that we will be better prepared to look elsewhere
for support and companionship, appreciating those who are there – in whatever
context – in our declining years.

Search This Blog

About Me

This is my blog on living and loving life without children after infertility. Currently I'm a blogger, a self-employed businessperson, and traveller.

I blog on A Separate Life about my everyday life, but this is a space for thoughts on my No Kidding lifestyle, the good and the bad, remembering what was lost, and celebrating what I have.

My husband and I are the stereotypical couple without children who love to travel. I recently started Instagram where I am (at) travellingMali, and I'm posting photos of various trips (so far mainly our northern trip this year), and the occasional photo of where I live in NZ.

In 2013 I travelled in Europe and the Middle East for five months, and kept a blog at Lemons to Limoncello.

I also had a travelblog some years ago, but stopped posting in 2012, which you can see at Mali's Travelalphablog. I'm intending to start that up again, so watch this space!

In the meantime, I love to hear from readers, and you can email me at: malinzblog at yahoo dot co dot nz